Posted: July 19th, 2009 | Author:knot | Filed under:I ♥ moozik | Comments Off
Last night I found myself in London’s (un)fashionable Shoreditch at a monthly “electro party” with the rather unpleasant name, “Dollop”. The bar was full of moustachio’ed buffoons who will be able to reflect comfortably on their sartorial misdemeanours in a few short years.
I am happy to report however, that the scene upstairs was slightly different. The Old Blue Last is actually a great venue with a high, black back-dropped stage and impressive sound. O. Children, the only live act of the night, are fronted by a statuesque model type with a croon pitched somewhere between Adam Green and Paul Banks of Interpol. The rhythm section sport the kind of hair-cuts that take up hours of valuable rehearsal time and the guitarist looks like the kind of lad who your mum would like to cook a nice meal for. Musically, it’s the kind of slightly dark, 80s-tinged electro-pop embraced by the bright young things which doesn’t seem to want to go away in a hurry.
The good news is that O. Children have a strong grasp of the dynamics of a good alt-pop tune and also know a hook when it looks them in the face. Singer Tobias can command a room but also has that tiny degree of gawkish self-consciousness that will make him likeable, if not adorable to girls and guys up and down the land. A brief, energy-charged set convinces everyone in the room and they are on their way. Tobias’ closing words, “Remember the name, O. Children”.
Posted: July 10th, 2009 | Author:knot | Filed under:I ♥ moozik | Comments Off
My friends, The Saskatoons have a couple of new songs up on their MySpace page. Their mainman Ross, hails from the West Midlands and his love of the country/Americana vibe led to him christening his label “Black Country Records”. An EP will be out on the afore-mentioned imprint in the near future. In the meantime go and have a listen.
By the way, did I mention I recorded and mixed the sessions for them?
This weekend I hitched along to the 5th Field Farm Festival with my friends Coconut Monkey who were part of the Saturday afternoon line-up.
You won’t have heard of it and you probably won’t have heard of any of the bands that were on the bill and you also won’t be that familiar with the concept of a festival such as this i.e. it’s not about a “lifestyle choice” (like all those bullshit “boutique” festivals) and it ain’t some sort of corporate pig circus (like…well, you name it really), it’s actually about the music (to paraphrase Neil Young). Field Farm is a great day in the beautiful Oxfordshire countryside, it’s totally free, the bands don’t go for the money cos there isn’t any and it’s full of people out to enjoy a wide range of performers (largely from the local area) and a drink or two. It’s a great set-up with 2 stages in a large farm building, good loud PA, bar with local beers and free camping. The whole thing is run on pulled-in favours and it’s a great example of how some real enthusiasm and a bit of community-spirit can produce an excellent, well-organised event.
As well as Coconut Monkey (who helped turn my birthday party in January into the best night ever) I’m going to give a shout-out to Alpha Road, Our Escape and Devilfork whom I particularly enjoyed.
I imagine there are lots of similar things going on up and down the country and indeed, around the world. So why not do a bit of digging about, find one near you (like these) and get yourself along?
My Biog page mentions the “dogma of punk” which is something I experienced first-hand in the late 70s. I just beat my brother to it by owning the first “punk” single in our household in 1977 – The Stranglers’ “Go Buddy Go/Peaches”. On the same day he bought “Magic Fly” by Space which we both thought was punk because they wore bin-liners and astronaut helmets on TOTP. However, being five years my senior he soon became the authority on punk due to his attendance at a tough Bristol comp.
One of the rules that he brought home with him was the fact that you were only allowed to like punk music or in the eyes of other punks you would be viewed as a fraud or specifically a “poser”. This was the ultimate humiliating insult when your musical credibility was on the line so it became a directive I clung firmly to. When I gained precocious entrance to my senior school this proved of great value. Kids who previously wouldn’t even acknowledge my existence now deigned to actually take an interest in me once they’d found out about my collection of Sex Pistols jap imports.
Those who had no particular musical allegiance were also dismissed as posers, I remember clearly the disdain with which one of my brother’s friends was regarded for issuing the statement “I quite like Blondie, actually”. I disowned Blondie in 1980 when Debbie Harry made the announcement that they were going disco on TOTP. My kind of behaviour was perpetrated by a large element of the punk scene and even encouraged by elements of the press with “sell-outs” being exposed on a weekly basis. You wouldn’t believe it now but back than it was a reality. The battle-lines had been drawn early on and we all had to decide which side of the bed we’d been lying on.
The reality was much different – Johnny Rotten’s 1977 Capital Radio interview included music by the likes of Peter Hammill and The Third Ear Band, Keith Levene was a big Yes fan (even rumoured to be Steve Howe’s roadie shortly before joining The Clash), Pete Shelley loved Can and Joe Strummer was a Springsteen/Dylan Obsessive, to name but 4 of the “guilty” few.
Of course, in retrospect it was all utterly absurd especially as The Stranglers – much as I loved them were just a speeded up R n B band who, by their own admission, had jumped the bandwagon and Blondie had clearly always been a disco band anyway. It’s funny to see how the party-line Chinese-whispered its way out to the provincial playgrounds. At least I had the excuse of only being 8 or 9 years old.
All of which brings me to why I love this clip so much – the long-haired hippy in the front row loves The Clash more than anyone else in the place!
It’s highly probable that the source of all this dogma was Bernard Rhodes, the manager of The Clash. Rhodes was an ardent Marxist and is viewed by many to be the true architect of the UK punk scene. A close associate of Malcolm McLaren, it was Rhodes who both initiated the birth of the Sex Pistols and discovered Johnny Rotten, inviting him to the famed miming audition at the Roebuck pub. Joe Strummer was so inspired by Rhodes’ vision that he adopted a year zero approach which involved sacking many of his friends as well as his band, The 101ers – a move that (understandably) rankles some, even to this day. It’s a similar dogmatic approach to that employed by fellow musical Marxists, Ewan MacColl with his region-specific school of folk revivalism in the 50s and Cornelius Cardew’s early 70s denouncement of the avant-garde in favour of an idealised proletarian popular song.
Thankfully, the birth of a post-punk “scene” within about 18 months of year zero brought with it a welcome and vital musical cross-pollination. You can read all about that in Simon Reynolds’ excellent “Rip It Up And Start Again”.
So it looks like my brother was right buying “Magic Fly” all along.
I’ve just been listening to Bill Fay’s two wonderful albums from the early 70s and something occurred to me again as it always does on hearing the bonus tracks “Screams In The Ears” & “Some Good Advice” (Bill’s 1967 single). Namely, that stylistically they share a massive amount with what Bowie was doing at the time, a whimsical vaudevillian singer-songwriter approach with a strong sense of melody, curious lyrics and even the same Newley-esque sarf London twang. Gawd they were even on the same label – wonder if they knew eachother?
Anyway, it makes me wonder what kind of musical career would have developed for Bill if he’d ended up in the same position Bowie did a few years later. And maybe 10 years ago someone would be hailing Bowie’s debut as some sort of unsung classic…
A gig in the afternoon is always a strangely uncomfortable experience – the plunge from sunlight into premature darkness, the un-prepared for volume, that first pint just a little too early in the day. All of these factors are of course compounded by the fact that this is Throbbing Gristle playing an all ages (14 and up anyway) gig at one of London’s most high profile and long established gay clubs. And consequently, the exact set of circumstances to convince me to finally succumb to the live TG experience.
As Genesis P.Orridge strolls on stage, flash bulbs popping, a girl behind me shouts “We love you Genesis!” eliciting a roll of the eyes and the cold reply:
“You have no idea how many people tell me that…and they’re all lying.”
He/she begins intoning the words to “Persuasion” which are spliced and looped as a brutal minimal electronic beat kicks in. The two untrained savants, Gen and Cosey (slide guitar and cornet) stand stage front with the engine room boffins firmly to the back. This is a deliberate demarcation – Chris Carter and Sleazy have always been TG’s “musicians”, semi-mockingly emphasised by the former’s white lab coat and table full of technical props. Sleazy sits impassively, in a rather fetching, lavishly decorated cow-skin style robe adding gravitas to his already imposing frame. He rocks back and forth on his chair sagely with a beatific grin as the swell of noise envelops and surrounds the room. The houselights are left on full, there is nowhere for performer or crowd to hide. This is the kind of egalitarian prop that holds a particular appeal for me.
The sound is relentless, it’s not so much volume as frequencies although it is bloody loud. The kick drum pounds your chest and your nostrils vibrate. This is an updated re-imagining of the TG sound with an added digital sheen. Those who came for the “greatest hits” are also treated to “What A Day” and “Hamburger Lady” – the sight of people dancing to this track is a particularly incongruous and disturbing image. Mid-set, as Gen dervish/pirouettes round the stage, he/she pulls up his/her sleeve to reveal a tattoo of his/her recently departed other half, Lady Jaye which he/she kisses repeatedly. It’s a moving sight and as touching as the moment when he/she leaves the stage to embrace some old friends in the crowd. Less than an hour in, “What A Day” mutates into the infamous “Wall Of Sound” and as the volume swells people begin to glance around. Some nervously, some inspecting the fingers-in-ears with a smug delight. Too soon, Sleazy signals a cut throat motion to end the track and the stage has emptied. This inevitably brought to mind the TG-derived “death chord” employed by My Bloody Valentine to subject their crowd to the most physical discomfort for the longest time possible. Fortunately in their case, if you can endure the first two skull-splitting minutes then the opposite effect is achieved as you inhale the noise and are levitated to a state close to nirvana. As Sleazy departs he mimes signals that translate as “that’s it, we really need to go and eat and drink now”. Well, what do you expect from a “wrecker of civilisation”?
It’s easy to wonder what TG’s relevance is in 2009, a good thirty years after they first attempted to wreck the fabric of the music establishment. Perhaps, like Wire, the fact that they’re still making loud, uncompromising music which is unacceptable to the mainstream is enough.
Picture courtesy of Chris Carter's Flickr page http://bit.ly/mCXjC
My friends, The Saskatoons have a couple of new songs up on their 
My Biog page mentions the “dogma of punk” which is something I experienced first-hand in the late 70s. I just beat my brother to it by owning the first “punk” single in our household in 1977 – The Stranglers’ “Go Buddy Go/Peaches”. On the same day he bought “Magic Fly” by Space which we both thought was punk because they wore bin-liners and astronaut helmets on TOTP. However, being five years my senior he soon became the authority on punk due to his attendance at a tough Bristol comp.
I’ve just been listening to Bill Fay’s two wonderful albums from the early 70s and something occurred to me again as it always does on hearing the bonus tracks “
A gig in the afternoon is always a strangely uncomfortable experience – the plunge from sunlight into premature darkness, the un-prepared for volume, that first pint just a little too early in the day. All of these factors are of course compounded by the fact that this is Throbbing Gristle playing an all ages (14 and up anyway) gig at one of London’s most high profile and long established gay clubs. And consequently, the exact set of circumstances to convince me to finally succumb to the live TG experience.
